


Remains

by Museical



Series: 31 Ways [2]
Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Warning: violence, warning: abuse, warning: alcoholism, warning: dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Museical/pseuds/Museical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, Cythera won't open the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remains

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS AND POTENTIAL TRIGGERS for: violence, abuse, dubcon, alcoholism. (Not written with dubcon in mind though interpretation of this situation as such is definitely a possibility.)
> 
>  
> 
> Neither Author nor Goldenlake condones, under any circumstances whatsoever: overindulgence in intoxicating drinks or drugs, alcoholism, violence or abuse of any kind against any person, or sexual encounters of any kind outside of those between two loving, willing partners.
> 
>  
> 
> Prompt: "Changed the lock on my front door", from an old prompt list, 31 Ways to Leave Your Lover.

  
The knocking came when Cythera expected it.  
  
Two simple raps.  
  
She bit her lip and steeled herself. She would not answer, not this time.  
  
A pause followed, as though the person on the other side of her door could not understand the lack of response. He probably couldn’t, she thought miserably, he probably had no idea…  
  
She stopped her hand before it touched the lock, shiny and new on the worn door.  
  
“Cythera?”  
  
His voice, confused, slid in around the edges of the doorway. The sound left her shivering.  
  
“Cyth, ‘s me, lemme in.”  
  
Biting her lip, Cythera leaned into the door, forehead resting on the polished wood. “You’re drunk, again.”  
  
No question, just a statement.  
  
“’Sonly a lil’bit. ‘Mfine. I wan’ see you, open th’door.”  
  
Her hand fisted against the door, but Cythera did not move. “No.”  
  
One. Two. Thr—  
  
“Open the door!” Something thudded against the wood, strong enough to shake the hinges. Cythera jerked back as another blow landed. “Open up right now!”  
  
The brand new key, the only key, pressed into her fingers.  
  
He was stronger when he was drunk, or perhaps he was always this strong and simply hid the fact; either way, the force of his rage terrified her. In the hall mirror, which jumped against the wall, a pale, wide eyed woman stared at Cythera, the ugly green-yellow of a bruise fading along her cheekbone.  
  
“You b’long t’ me, Cyth! Le’—me—in!”  
  
Promises that never came through. No.  
The sour tang of liquor on his tongue and in her mouth. No.  
The way the prints of his fingers on her wrist won’t wash off. No.  
  
The wall stopped her from taking any more steps away from the door. Curling into herself, Cythera waited for the pounding to stop.  
  
Silence fell.  
  
“…Cyth?”  
  
Raoul’s voice, barely loud enough to hear, quavered.  
  
She covered her face with her hands, and tears leaked through her fingers.

 

 


End file.
